Pouss. But why do you take offence at the praises of others? Parrhasius made no comparisons? why are you vexed?

Leo. Yes, indeed! a little French painter, who was forced to leave his own country, to go and labour for bread at Rome!

Pouss. Ho! since you take it thus, you shall not have the last word. Well, 'tis true I left France to go and live at Rome, where I studied the antique models, and where painting was held in greater estimation than in my own country. But, in short, although a foreigner, I was admired in Rome. And you, who were an Italian, were you not obliged to leave your country, although painting was so honoured there, and go and die at the court of Francis I.?

Leo. I should like to examine one of your pictures by the rules of painting, which I explained in my books. One might find as many faults as strokes.

Pouss. I consent:-I can believe that I am not so great a painter as you; but I am less jealous of my works. I will display the whole composition of one of my pictures: if you see faults in it, I will frankly avow them; if you approve what I have done, I shall oblige you to esteem me a little more than you do.

Leo. Well, let us see. But remember I am a severe

critic.

Pouss. So much the better.-Imagine a rock on the left side of the picture: from this rock falls a pure bright spring, which, after sparkling a little in its fall, runs off across the country. A man, coming to draw water at the spring, is seized by a large serpent. The serpent winds round his body, and twines several times round his arms and legs, presses him, poisons and strangles him. The man is dead; he is stretched out. The weight and stiffness of his limbs is seen. His flesh is already livid. His face of horror expresses a cruel death.

Leo. If you introduce no other object, this is but a melancholy picture.

Pouss. But you will find in it something more melancholy still. Another man advances towards the fountain; he perceives the serpent round the dead man. He stops suddenly. One of his feet remains suspended. He raises one arm, the other falls. But the two hands are spread, they mark surprise and horror.

Leo. This second object, although melancholy, fails not to animate the picture, and to give a certain pleasure, like that felt by the spectators of those ancient tragedies, where every thing inspired terror and pity; but we shall soon see if you

Pouss. Ab, ha! you begin to be a little softened but wait for the rest, if you please. You shall apply your rules when I have told you all. Close by there is a high road, on the side of which there is a woman, who sees the terrified man, but who cannot see the dead man, because she is in a hollow, and the ground makes a sort of skreen between her and the spring. The sight of the frightened man causes in her a counter-stroke of fear. These two expressions of alarm are, as one may say, what griefs ought to be; the greater are silent, the lesser complain. The terror of the man makes him motionless. That of the woman, which is less, is more marked by the distortion of her face. In her you see a woman's fear, who can contain nothing; who expresses all her alarm, and gives way to all she feels: she falls, and lets fall, and forgets what she was carrying. She extends ber arms, and seems to cry out. Do not these various degrees of fear and surprise make a kind of play that touches and gives pleasure?

Leo. I acknowledge it. But what is the design?—is it history? I don't know it. It is rather a caprice.

Pouss. It is a caprice. very well, provided the

This kind of composition succeeds fancy be regulated, and that it

does not depart from the truth of nature. On the left side there are some large trees which appear old, and such as those venerable oaks which formerly served as the divinities of a country. Their ancient trunks have a rough and rugged bark, which sends to a distance a young and tender grove, placed behind. This grove has a delicious freshness. One longs to be within it. One imagines a burning sunshine would respect the sacred wood. It is planted along a clear stream, and seems to admire itself therein. On one side is a deep green, on the other the dark blue of a serene sky. In this stream several objects present themselves, which amuse the eye, and relieve it after the terrible objects it first beheld. In the fore-ground all the figures are tragic. But behind all is peaceful, soft, and gay: here are boys bathing, and sporting as they swim. There, fishers in a boat; one is leaning forward, almost falling: they are hauling a net. Two others, leaning back, are rowing vigorously. Others are on the bank, playing at morra. By their faces you see that one is thinking of a number to take in his companion, who seems attentive not to be so taken. Others are walking beyond the water on a fresh green-sward. Seeing them in so pleasant a spot, one is ready to envy their pleasure. At a good distance a woman on an ass is seen, going to the neighbouring town; she is followed by two men. One instantly imagines these good people, in their rustic simplicity, going to carry to the town the abundance of the fields they have cultivated. On the same left side, above the grove, there is a sharp mountain, on which there is a castle. Leo. The left side of your picture makes me curious to see the right side.

Pouss. There is a little hill, sloping down insensibly to the river. On the slope shrubs and bushes are seen in confusion, on uncultivated ground. Before the hill great trees; are planted, through which one sees the country, the water and the sky.

Leo. But that sky,- how have you managed it?

Pouss. It is a fine blue, mixed with bright clouds, that look like gold and silver.

Leo. You did this, doubtless, to have occasion to dispose of your lights as you pleased, and to spread it over each object according to your wishes.

So,

Pouss. I own I did. But you must also own, that in doing I showed that I was not ignorant of your boasted rules. Leo. What is there in the middle of the picture, beyond the river?

Pouss. A town, which I have already mentioned. It is in a hollow, which conceals part of it. There are old towers, battlements, large buildings, and a confusion of houses in strong shadow; which relieves certain parts, lighted by a soft bright light from above. Above the town appears what one almost always sees above great cities in fine weatherthe rising smoke sending off the mountains, which form the back-ground: these mountains, of irregular shapes, vary the horizon, so that the eye is satisfied.

Leo. This picture, from what you tell me, appears less learned than that of Phocion.

Pouss. There is less of the knowledge of architecture, it is true. Besides, it display's no acquaintance with the antique. But, on the other hand, the science of expressing the passions is considerable. Besides, the whole of this landscape has a grace and freshness which the other does not possess.

Leo. You then, upon the whole, would prefer this picture? Pouss. Without hesitation. But what do you think by my description?

Leo. I don't know the picture of Phocion well enough to compare them. I see you have studied the good models of the last century and my books well. But you praise your works too much.

Pouss, Yourself obliged me to speak of them. But know, that it was neither in your books, nor in the pictures

of the last age, that I sought instruction; but in the antique bas-reliefs that you studied as well as I. If I ever should return to the living, I should be able to paint Jealousy well, for you furnish me with excellent models here. As to myself, I do not pretend to take any of your science or glory from you; but I should yield to you with more pleasure if you were less fond of your rank. Let us go to Farrhasius. You shall make your remarks to him: he shall decide, if you please; for I will only yield to you modern gentlemen, on condition that you yield to the ancients. After Parrhasius has pronounced, I shall be ready to return to earth, and correct my picture.

LORD HOWE'S PORTRAIT.

THE first engraving of Lord Howe, Black Dick, as he was fondly designated by his jovial crew, was engraved from a portrait for which his lordship never sat, and engraved in mezzotinto by Robert Laurie.

The picture was compiled from a sketch by a naval officer, and from description, at the instance of Admiral Braithwaite, by a foreign artist named Meguignon.

The engraving being finished, Mr. Laurie one morning waited upon Lady Howe, at his lordship's breakfast hour, in May Fair. She thought it "wondrous like," and promised to submit it to her noble spouse.

Mr. Laurie waited in the breakfast parlour, when, with the grandeur of a man of war, in steered the mighty admiral, the print in his hand.